Page 52 of Roses & Ruin

Delia and I look out the window. Sure enough, soft, powdery flakes are falling from the sky. I shoot her a questioning look. Are you doing this? Even Delia looks surprised. She shakes her head.

“Before you know it, it’s gonna be Christmas.” The waitress eyes the trees, nearly bare as stripped bone. “Girls, warning you now. The older you get, time just goes—” She snaps her manicured fingers. I flinch at the sound as if it’s a gunshot. “It’s gone before you know it.” She refills our waters and walks away.

When I glance back out the window, the oak tree’s very last leaf shivers off the branch. Delia and I watch it ride the snowy wind all the way to the grass.

“What were you asking me?” Delia eventually says.

“Never mind,” I say.

At this point, I’ve only got time enough to go straight to the source.

Chapter 18

Night has fallen by the time I find the small cobblestone street not too far from Holyfield Cemetery. My boots crunch softly in the snow, and my heart is already pounding. I suck in a snow-filled breath, wrap my scarf tighter around my neck, and press through the curtain of white.

After our conversation, I asked Delia where I could find Hayden, and she gave me his address. Hayden’s house stands alone at the end of a row of charming, historic homes. His is the most picturesque, a single-story brick Victorian house with a small fenced-in yard and a satin-black door. It looks like a Christmas card right now, dusted in the sumptuous cover of powdered-sugar snow.

A surge of dread roils my stomach: The reminder of Christmas just feels like a countdown tightening a noose around my neck.

I ease open the lustrous iron gate, rush down the slippery walkway to his glossy door. I raise my fist. My heart is absolutely thundering. I swallow hard against the lurch of nerves.

Please don’t turn me away.

I knock on Hayden’s door. It yanks open so fast, I startle back. Hayden’s eyes go huge when he sees it’s me.

“Rose?” he breathes in shock. My entire body clenches at his low, rough voice, at how he nearly fills the entire doorframe with the lean muscles of his broad shoulders.

Ugh, I was not prepared for how he looks. It’s clear he wasn’t expecting guests. Hayden’s dark hair is rumpled and soft—like it’s recently dried from a shower, like maybe he’s been running his hands through it all day. He’s wearing only a plain white slim-fit T-shirt and cobalt-blue boxers. I swallow hard at the bare stretch of his legs, the way his cotton shirt shows the shape of his firm stomach. His beautiful face seems a little tired, the shadows beneath his eyes more prominent than I’ve seen.

But it doesn’t make him look worse. The opposite. He looks soft, vulnerable. So touchable. So gorgeous.

“Hayden,” I say, “I—”

“You shouldn’t be here,” Hayden snaps darkly, all softness vanishing, his eyes flaring with anger. He takes a step closer, looming over me. “I already told you why. You need to go. Now.”

“No,” I say, forcing myself to hold his gaze. “No, I need to talk to you.”

Hayden’s eyes smolder with something so fierce that for a moment I’m terrified he’ll slam the door in my face and that’ll be it.

Instead, he turns around, disappearing inside his house. I chase after him, my pulse rocketing. I’m so, so sick of him running from me. But I’m also very aware that he could easily have me out on the street with a flick of his wrist. It’s a deliberate choice to let me follow him into his house. I let that glimmer of hope bolster me.

“Hayden,” I call, closing the door behind me. He doesn’t answer. I take in the space. It’s surprisingly elegant and understated for an eighteen-year-old boy. But maybe not for a vampire.

The small entryway houses a dark walnut coatrack holding a single, expensive-looking jacket. The walls are painted a tasteful light gray, the trim a rich charcoal. It smells of woodsmoke, and when I turn into his large front room, I see why.

The high-ceilinged, beautifully appointed room is anchored by a huge, stunning fireplace on the opposite wall, crackling merrily with a stack of lit logs. It was built using large, polished river stones, tightly packed by pale mortar. A low-slung beige leather sofa sits before the fire, an open book splayed face down on the cushions. Was Hayden reading before I got here?

“You get five minutes.” Hayden’s back, tugging on a pair of jeans. I watch, rapt, as he pulls up his fly, then buttons them closed. Why was that so hot? My mouth’s suddenly dry. “Rose? I’m serious.” Hayden stalks toward me, glowering. “Say what you need to say, because this is it. I’m not fucking around.” There’s a sudden desperation in his voice. “You can’t be near me. I won’t allow it.”

Anger rises within me, swift and sudden. I snatch it, hold it close.

“Okay, you know what?” I say, gritting my teeth. “That’s the problem right there, Hayden. You don’t allow me to do anything. I allow me. Do you understand? And I’m allowing myself to be with you.”

“What?” Hayden’s eyes narrow. I close the distance between us, crane my neck to meet his eyes.

“I don’t care about any of it,” I say. “I don’t care if it puts me in danger. I don’t care about your stupid curse.” Hayden’s head jerks like I’ve struck him.

“Easy for you to say that,” he mutters darkly. “You’re not the one left alone in the world when the curse strikes. You’re not the one left holding your dead body.” I swallow hard against the pinch in my chest and step forward.